CRACK!
After a thunderbolt from a seemingly clear sky though no storm clouds gathered above, the wand in Draco's hand, which had been pointing at Neville's throat inches away, was suddenly yanked away by a powerful, irresistible magical force. The wand went spinning and tumbling high into the air.
Draco himself was simultaneously struck and paralyzed by crackling red electric light that coursed through his body like lightning through a rod. His legs gave way beneath him as though all the bones had suddenly vanished, and he half-knelt awkwardly on the churned ground, unable to move a single muscle.
Who had intervened at this critical moment?
Even without being able to turn his paralyzed head around to see, even frozen in place, Draco knew the answer to that question with certainty.
The students in Professor Watson's physical education class had been working together, training together, bleeding together for over a year now. Through countless brutal sessions and simulated battles, everyone knew well what spells each person excelled at.
Potter's signature move was his Disarming Charm. Unlike the standard version taught, Potter's variant could simultaneously attack multiple targets with branching beams and paralyze opponents with residual stunning effects!
Whoosh!
A fierce, rushing wind followed immediately.
The young wizards still conscious on the blood-soaked clearing all raised their heads instinctively, some shielding their eyes against debris. When they saw three figures gradually becoming clearer in the sky above, descending from the canopy, many instinctively cried out in surprise and wonder!
Neville looked down at Malfoy, half-kneeling helplessly before him with complicated emotions in his eyes.
Strictly speaking, in their brutal duel just moments ago, Malfoy had been tactically superior and had achieved the winning position, even though Neville had voluntarily withdrawn his own deadly sword to avoid maiming him.
That feint with the hand had been brilliant, cunning in the best Slytherin tradition.
However, Neville quickly cast this small regret aside with a mental shake. Victory was victory, regardless of how it came. He looked up at the sky along with everyone else.
"Merlin's beard..." Neville breathed out in wonder.
Looking more carefully, squinting against the brightness, Neville immediately exclaimed in amazement, "It's Harry and the others! They're actually flying... without broomsticks! How is that even possible?"
Fleur also stopped her energy-draining dance, her support magic was fading as she lost concentration. Panting heavily and wiping away the sweat that dampened her hair and made it cling to her flushed face, she too looked up in puzzlement and fascination at what she was witnessing.
"Could this be some special magic? Some British technique we don't learn in France?" She squinted, trying to make sense of the sight. "But they look like they're actually riding something solid... Oh, if it's—"
"They're Thestrals," Viktor said, his voice was slightly strained and his face was pale despite his dark complexion.
The fierce-looking creatures that Harry and his companions were riding with apparent ease made his shoulders shrink slightly in unease. "A type of flying magical creature, like Hippogriffs or Abraxans, but only people who have witnessed death can see these beings."
'Witnessed death.'
Several people visibly shuddered at this. But Luna cheerfully greeted the Thestrals hovering at the edge of the clearing, their massive bat-like wings flapping with steady beats that sent leaves and dust swirling.
"They've been pulling the school carriages all along!" Luna said with her dreamy enthusiasm waving at the invisible creatures. "Such lovely things, really."
"Pulling carriages for Hogwarts?" Viktor muttered, his mind was immediately suspicious. Then his expression darkened as he frowned deeply. "Doesn't this count as cheating? Why do only you Hogwarts students get the service of Thestrals? This seems unfair."
"Oh, don't misunderstand me, Krum!" Ron called down.
Commanding a flying mount you couldn't see was no simple matter, after all, it required complete trust and spatial awareness.
Ron sat somewhat insecurely on the Thestral's back, swaying left and right with each wing beat gripping the Thestral's black mane tightly with both hands to steady himself and avoid tumbling off into empty air. Hearing his Quidditch idol's complaint, he leaned out boldly and looked down at the assembled group below.
The astonished and awed expressions of everyone on the ground, looking up at him like he was some kind of hero immediately sent Ron's mood soaring to its absolute peak. This was even better than winning at chess!
He called out gleefully, unable to suppress his grin, "These Thestrals aren't the same ones that pull the school carriages! They've been living deep in the Forbidden Forest all along. We tamed them!"
'Wild Thestrals? They tamed them?'
Viktor pressed his lips together in a thin line, his expression was skeptical, seemingly not entirely believing this convenient explanation. It sounded too fortunate.
"All we could use were our wands and things we found in the Forbidden Forest—" Hermione's voice carried down, slightly breathless.
Hermione couldn't see the Thestrals either. And moreover, she was far more afraid of heights than Ron had ever been. During the entire terrifying flight just now, swooping through trees and diving through clearings, she had kept her eyes squeezed tightly closed and her fingers locked in the Thestral's mane.
After hovering uncertainly for a while and taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart, Hermione finally overcame her fear of heights and forced her eyes open. She observed the chaotic battlefield below and the exhausted, injured people scattered across it.
"Before we entered the forest, Professor Watson told all of us this," she continued, her voice was steady despite her fear. "We could use anything we found."
That was indeed completely true. Every team had heard those exact instructions during the pre-competition briefing.
"But how exactly did you tame them?" Fleur asked with curiosity, straining her eyes wide, squinting hard, trying desperately to see some trace or outline of the supposedly invisible creatures in the air above.
After trying hard for a long time without any success, she could only give up in frustration and ask with keen interest instead, "What method did you use?"
"Near that particular group of wild Thestrals was a large, dense patch of Devil's Snare," Harry explained, holding the Thestral's mane with one hand while gripping both his own wand and Draco's captured wand with the other.
His face was thoroughly blackened by smoke and fire, streaked with soot and ash, and it wasn't hard to guess what method they had used to drive the Thestrals away from their resting place into the Devil's Snare, then rescue them to earn their trust and cooperation.
"So, you have no more questions, right?" Ron grinned broadly, his freckled face was shining with triumph.
In his memory, the last time he had shown off quite this spectacularly was probably when he and Harry had come to Hogwarts in his father's flying Ford Anglia and crashed into the violent Whomping Willow.
That had been exciting too.
Ron looked down cheerfully at the many silent people below, enjoying their upturned faces. "Now, please hand over your badges without any fuss. Oh, and don't try to fool us with fake transfigured badges this time, Krum!"
'Fake badges?' Several heads turned sharply.
"So that means—" Fleur immediately looked with sharp accusation and unmistakable anger at Viktor Krum, whose face showed deep embarrassment at these words and this public revelation. "You didn't actually lose your badges to Potter at all, did you? You lied to us?"
Viktor coughed awkwardly, his neck was reddening. "It was just a tactical deception, used to mislead one's enemies and create opportunities."
"Like the Wronski Feint in Quidditch!" Ron said excitedly. "Brilliant really!"
"Ron!" Hermione said in a sharp, reproachful tone. Now was not the time to relax or compliment their opponents.
"What's the current situation here, Neville?" Harry asked.
Compared to Ron and Hermione, Harry could handle the Thestral more skillfully. He controlled the creature to descend somewhat lower, and the sharp wind from its powerful wing beats made those below shield their faces, even more awestruck by the display of mastery.
"As you can see, Harry—" Neville said with a relaxed expression and a slight shrug. "We're fighting. Having a bit of a scrap, really."
Harry's face darkened with exasperation. Sometimes he genuinely preferred the old, nervous Neville who gave proper explanations.
"We set an ambush trap, originally planning to deal with whichever champion teams came through this area first," the honest Cedric explained to Harry, filling in the gaps.
"But the Slytherins accidentally triggered our trap instead, so we had no choice but to fight them directly. Later Durmstrang and Beauxbatons joined the battle, helping us resist Slytherin's counterattack together."
This explanation was much clearer and more complete, and Harry nodded in understanding.
However, he knew very well that the actual duel process between the various sides wouldn't be nearly as understated as this brief summary made it sound.
Just from the tattered, blood-soaked uniforms on these people, especially the horrific state of the clothes on Neville and Malfoy, you could tell that the confrontation between the sides had been fierce to the extreme.
Draco had finally shaken off the lingering negative effects of Harry's powerful Disarming Charm. He slowly stood up from the ground on trembling legs. He raised his head and gazed coldly at Harry hovering above, while Harry also directed his own gaze down to meet Draco's eyes.
Without needing to say more, without any words exchanged, both of them understood the situation.
If this had been a few years ago, perhaps even last year, having the perfect chance to humiliate Malfoy in front of everyone, Harry definitely wouldn't have passed up such a pleasant, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
He would have savored every moment of Draco's defeat and embarrassment. Even half an hour ago, he had fantasized about exactly this very scene playing out in his mind, imagining what cutting remarks he might make.
But now, looking down at Malfoy's uniform completely soaked with blood and sweat, seeing his pale, expressionless face that revealed nothing but dignity despite defeat, Harry suddenly didn't want to do it anymore. The desire for petty revenge had vanished.
He even felt a strange trace of genuine admiration for Malfoy rising unexpectedly in his heart.
After all, this small group of Slytherins had engaged in a genuine frontal confrontation with three teams simultaneously and had managed to send quite a few people off the field before being overwhelmed. This was remarkably different from their usual preferred style of conspiracies, backstabbing, and dirty tricks to harm people from the shadows.
Now, everyone's eyes were fixed intently on Harry and his two companions hovering above like judges. They all knew clearly that this Hogwarts team, fresh and at full strength, had taken complete control of the competition's outcome.
"This is your wand—"
After a brief silence, Harry, sitting on the Thestral's back, made his decision. He tossed down the wand he had taken from Draco with a casual flick.
The wand tumbled through the air, bounced a few times on the hard ground with small clicks, and landed at Draco's feet.
This unexpected scene not only made Ron cry out in shocked surprise"Harry, what are you doing?" but even Cedric, Fleur, Viktor and the others below showed expressions of shocked anger and bewilderment.
Looking at the wand lying by his feet, within easy reach, Draco didn't immediately bend down to pick it up. His pale face turned slightly greenish with suppressed emotion, and the corner of his left eye twitched.
"You're humiliating me, Potter."
"If you insist on thinking that way, there's nothing I can do about it, Malfoy," Harry said coldly.
He paused, then continued, "Your task from Professor Watson was to intercept the champion teams, right? I think you did well. But given the current situation, with your losses and condition, there's no need for Slytherin to continue fighting.
You've suffered heavy casualties, and your physical strength and magical power are clearly greatly depleted. Of course, if you still want to continue this fight, we have no objection at all. But we will also join forces with the other champion teams to eliminate you from the competition first, as our primary target. Your choice."
The members of the two teams below tensed up as they watched the remaining standing Slytherins warily.
With Hermione's fresh team joining in, the champion teams had gained an absolutely overwhelming, insurmountable advantage over the battered Slytherin forces.
However, judging from Slytherin's demonstrated fighting spirit and refusal to yield up to this point, no one could guarantee they would rationally give up rather than continue fighting desperately and stubbornly, trying to eliminate even more people from the competition in a final blaze of glory.
'Did well.' The words echoed in Draco's mind.
Draco's lips moved silently, and his raised eyebrows were enough to prove his genuine surprise at that unexpected moment.
He stared up at Potter hovering in midair like some kind of avenging angel, gazing into his green eyes behind those round glasses. And he found no emotion of mockery or sarcasm in those pupils.
Several seconds later, under everyone's watchful eyes and held breath, Draco made his decision. He bent down slowly and picked up his wand. After carefully brushing off the clinging dirt with his thumb, he slowly inserted the wand into his sleeve where it belonged.
His gaze swept around the clearing, and Draco's eyes scanned each person's face in turn.
His voice was hoarse from shouting spells, rough with exhaustion, as he said,
"You've passed the first trial."
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